


richie tozier is no tony rivers

by kechiwrites



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Teen Wolf (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Dog Jokes, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Fluff, Friendship/Love, High School, Love Confessions, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Teen Romance, Werewolf Turning, Werewolves, because fuck that guy, richie tozier also loves compliments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 20:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kechiwrites/pseuds/kechiwrites
Summary: Eddie is the only one Richie tells, because it's Eddie, duh. Which means Eddie is, as always, the one who fixes Richie's problems, the one who holds Richie's hand.teen wolf au, because better werewolves in the barrens than a killer clown.





	richie tozier is no tony rivers

**Author's Note:**

> this is a product of many sprints in the reddie's hammock discord, my everlasting love of teen wolf, and gatorade mixed with redbull. thank you to Beth, Bel and Zoe for beta-ing for me! <3

Richie tells Eddie first, his voice uncharacteristically somber. Of course, he does, Richie’s not necessarily a bad liar, but he didn’t like lying to Eddie. It always came off stunted, tense, like Richie’s tongue had sworn its loyalty to Edward Kaspbrak and no other. And Eddie knows as much.

It was stupid, beyond stupid, it was literally incomprehensible. So, he doesn’t believe at first, who the hell would? Werewolves aren’t real, they’re fiction, a horror movie monster Richie was afraid of when they were kids. Eddie says as much, rolling his eyes and turning to leave. But Richie has an iron grip on his arm, letting go when Eddie winces, so instead he flashes his eyes at Eddie. All of a sudden, they’re a startling _inhuman_ yellow, almost gold, he bares his teeth and his canines are elongated and sharpened to a point. Eddie’s heart seizes, his breathing quickens, and he scrambles for his inhaler, nearly collapsing to the floor. And just like that, Richie’s back to normal, babbling apologies and trying to reach for Eddie only to have him kick out of his grasp. It hurts, Richie won’t lie, but he gets it. This is scary, Richie is scared.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s mind is racing.

_‘First of all, why would werewolves be skulking about in Derry, Maine? And near the fucking Barrens? What did they want? More specifically, what did they want with **Richie**?’_

Eddie doesn’t know how long he sits there, on the floor, ruminating in the new information, turning the concept of werewolves, _fucking actual, honest to god werewolves_, about in his mind. He doesn’t know how long his mind struggles to settle on the reality of the situation but clearly, every second of the silence weighs heavily on Richie.

“Eds,” Richie sniffs, his eyes are glassy, and Eddie realizes Richie isn’t wearing his glasses, but he isn’t squinting like he usually does without them. “Help me. Please.” Eddie’s heart aches and he rushes forward. When Eddie hugs him, Richie is _warm_ in a way he’s never been before, it’s like he’s running a furnace underneath his skin. He looks like Eddie’s Richie; he sounds like Eddie’s Richie. But he is inexplicably different, like there’s something shifting just beneath, prowling back and forth, circling Eddie, even when Richie is standing still, unmoving.

There’s nothing Eddie won’t do for Richie, so he shoves his fear down deep, where sickness and death and nights in the hammock and love reside.

Eddie helps.

* * *

The full moon is only a week and a half later, and Eddie feels they are ill prepared. It was Richie’s idea to restrain him, keep him locked up so he doesn’t eat a kid or someone’s cat. Eddie pulls out the long strands of iron chains from his backpack, dragging them against the concrete floor towards Richie. They were heavy and unwieldy and made weird clinking noises when Eddie was running to the abandoned tire factory where Richie waited. At first Richie is startled, but he laughs at the visual.

“Jesus, Eddie Spaghetti, did you at least notify your mom that we’re borrowing from her private collection?” Richie wiggles his eyebrows and drops the timbre of his voice on the last part. 

“Richie, please shut your fucking mouth.” Richie watches Eddie settle on his knees beside him, back pressed up against a steel pillar, bolted in, floor to industrial ceiling. Eddie begins looping the chains around Richie and the pillar, again and again. They don’t talk much, save Eddie checking in increments if Richie can still breathe. It’s almost entirely dark outside by the time Eddie finishes, padlocking the chains together. Richie tries to wiggle and when he barely manages a shuffle he winks at Eddie.

“_Dang_, Edward, you didn’t tell me you were such a bondage pro. Maybe next time we can-”

“Richie.” Eddie’s voice brooks no argument and Richie looks appropriately censured. He _knows_ this is serious, knows that Eddie is putting himself in real, _actual_ danger to help Richie. He’d rethought asking Eddie for help dozens of times over the week that passed, watched Eddie lie to their friends, to his _mom_ for Richie. But Eddie had never so much as looked regretful. Never said anything but, “You asked me for help, Trashmouth. I’m helping. So, shut up and do what I say.”

And who was Richie to deny Eddie anything?

The two sit, and while they’re watching the sky through the holes in the factory’s ceiling, Richie flexes and curls the fingers of his right hand, nearly brushing Eddie’s left, once, twice, and Richie’s heart is in his throat. It’s all he can manage with the restraints, and the contact is not enough. It’s never enough when it comes to Eddie. With Eddie, Richard Tozier was always within and without. Always watching, touching, laughing but never close enough. For Richie, Eddie is a faint, barely there ‘_E_’ on the wood of the kissing bridge, a lingering hug on the way home. A post-it note in a shoebox stashed in the back of Richie’s closet that reads ‘_You’re my best friend, shithead. – Eddie_’. Without a word, Eddie shifts closer, trailing his fingers over Richie’s outstretched digits, before holding his hand proper. Eddie’s grip is solid, probably painful for anyone else, but Richie can’t feel that. He only feels the warmth of his palm. Eddie turns to look at Richie and speaks, his voice trembling, “No matter what, you’ll still be in there. And I’ll be out here, waiting for you. I promise.”

The shift is slow, but Richie feels it as soon as it begins, a distinct discomfort. Like his skin doesn’t quite fit right, his teeth don’t sit in his mouth like they should, and his tongue can’t seem to find a comfortable place. The claws come first, and they cut Eddie, not deep by any means, but they hurt, and _holy shit_, Eddie is bleeding. A bright, candy red line across the top of his hand, he clutches it to his chest but doesn’t scurry away from Richie. 

_Not this time._

Gradually Eddie watches Richie shift, back and forth, one minute he’s quiet, grimacing, only his eyes indicative of the change he was undergoing. The next minute he’s snarling, mouth full of sharp fangs, claws scratching at the floor, legs kicking outward. It’s _terrifying_ and it looks painful. When Richie is himself, no fangs or fur, he’ll insist it doesn’t hurt, that it’s almost, sort of…relieving, but Eddie will never believe him. Never get the image of Richie’s first full moon out of his mind. He whimpers and thrashes against the chains, and Eddie gets closer, wanting to help in some way, _any_ way, but Richie’s protest is a loud, harsh and garbled “No!” 

So, Eddie just watches. 

It takes almost 15 minutes and the last few moments of it are the worst. It sounds almost like Richie’s bones are breaking, snapping and reforming, to change Richie’s shape. He’s howling and groaning, and Eddie knows he hears sobbing.

The sobbing was the _worst_. Eddie had to close his eyes through the sobbing.

When he looks again, Richie is gone, not completely, he’s still in there, Eddie _knows_ his Richie is still in there. But there’s this hulking, monstrous version of his face that’s pushed Richie into the recesses of his own body. A snarling, vicious face in place of the one Eddie loves.

“It’s okay,” Eddie murmurs to himself, hand still pressed to his chest, “I’ll learn to love this one too.”

The sound of Eddie’s voice makes the creature – ‘_Richie_’, Eddie chastises his thoughts – snap to attention. Then glowing yellow eyes are trained on Eddie, and nothing else. Richie’s breaths come out in pants; teeth bared. His face is contorted, the skin of his cheeks and arms had grown hair in thick tufts. He still _looked_ like Richie, if Eddie got over the hair and the jaw and the teeth. Eddie doesn’t know what he expected, a full wolf maybe? There weren’t exactly textbooks for this.

_‘God, what would they even be called?’_ Eddie thinks, _‘”What to do when your childhood best friend who is also the love of your pathetic life is a werewolf and also you’re gay and a coward”?’_

He might’ve been the littlest bit hysterical.

Eddie doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, just stares back, with no real plan as to what to do now. He can’t leave Richie there. And if he did run, wouldn’t Richie try to follow?

Instead, Eddie wraps his bleeding hand in gauze from his backpack, being careful not to let his eyes drift from Richie’s for too long. He thinks he heard in class that turning your back to wild animals meant submission, or maybe that was cats. Either way, Eddie didn’t want to risk it. After his hand is sufficiently bandaged, he stands, picking up his bag and walking slowly, glacially, to sit in front of Richie, backpack in front of his crossed legs, a shield of some sort, if Eddie had been pressed to say.

Eddie stares, for a long time. He just sits and stares at Richie’s almost unblinking golden eyes. He thinks for a few moments, that he misses the glasses. They’d talked about it more, after Richie had told Eddie the truth. Richie didn’t need his glasses anymore;

_“Wait, seriously?” Eddie waved his hands in front of Richie’s face, yelping when Richie grabs them._

_“No Eds, I’m not serious. I do still need to wear my glasses, and this is all an elaborate ruse to get you to wave your hands like a traffic cop in my face.”_

_Eddie snorts at that and they tussle for a bit, Eddie trying to wrench his wrists out of Richie’s hands and Richie barely trying to keep his grip. They drop to the floor of Richie’s room and the wrestling continues. Eddie can tell that Richie’s holding back, even more so than he usually would. For once, Eddie’s “winning”, basically sitting on Richie’s chest while Richie bats Eddie’s hands away playfully._

_“I’m different now, I’m way faster, way stronger and apparently, my eyesight is now 90/90, or some shit.” Richie peers up at him, smile small and the tiniest bit smug. Eddie quirks an eyebrow, smushing his open hand over Richie’s face. “That doesn’t even make sense, Superman.”_

_Richie makes a sound of discontent and before Eddie even realizes it, he’s off the floor, feet dangling in the air while Richie holds him up with both hands under his armpits, like someone holding a toddler._

_“Super enough for you?” Richie’s grin is blinding and for that Eddie is grateful. Eddie loves Richie’s smile._

_“Put me down or I’m gonna kick you in the nuts.”_

Before he realizes it, Eddie is leaning in, raising a hand to touch, but Richie snaps at him, growling and Eddie barely avoids losing his fingers.

“Don’t be a dick Richie.” Eddie snaps back, uncaring of Richie’s current predicament. For a second, Richie looks shocked, before he whines high in the back of his throat. Eddie laughs at this, his bandaged hand over his mouth while the whining continues. The reminder of Richie’s true nature is a relief and Eddie finds himself relaxing. They stay like that for a while, Richie appropriately cowed and Eddie just the littlest bit pleased.

Time stretches on and Eddie starts to get bored, waiting for the shift to reverse. He’d dozed off multiple times, but Richie would growl and yip to keep him awake. So, he figures he better try something else to keep alert. There’s a spongy rubber ball at the bottom of Eddie’s bag and he pulls it out, to have something, anything to do. When the small red ball is out of the bag, Richie’s lupine head perks up and Eddie notices his attention immediately. Slowly, Eddie waves the ball back and forth and Richie’s head follows to Eddie’s delight.

“Oh, you are _never_ gonna live this down.” Eddie chirps gleefully, mostly to himself. Then to Richie, his voice is giddy he croons, “You want the ball, Rich? Wanna play fetch?” Eddie throws the ball against the steel pillar, above Richie, the werewolf’s head whips straight up to watch it’s trajectory before it lands back in Eddie’s hand. Now Richie is totally riveted, so Eddie tosses the ball again, to Richie this time. When it lands right in his mouth, Richie howls with delight, feet kicking with glee. Eddie can’t help but think it’s absolutely adorable. Eddie stands, hands out so Richie knows he’s not a threat, and approaches. “I’m gonna take the ball now, Rich, okay? So do _not_ rip my arm off, cause I’m gonna be super mad at you, and we’re not gonna be able to play anymore.” Richie whimpers when Eddie’s fingers first meet the ball but he relents and gives it up with a fuss. Eddie can’t help but coo at him, tousling the jet-black fur, even going so far as to kiss the top of Richie’s head. “Such a good boy Richie!”

Richie visibly preens at the attention.

They spend the rest of their night this way, Eddie tossing the ball and talking through the night with Richie, inane stuff, school, getting a job, and not so inane stuff like finally running away from Derry like they always said they would. In the end, Eddie drifts off, and when he wakes, the sun is rising, just barely peeking through the cracked, boarded up factory windows. Richie is human again, asleep, still chained to the steel pillar, Hawaiian shirt tattered near the bottom where he’d clawed at it, but otherwise unharmed. Eddie takes a few minutes to get his wits about him, yawning and stretching until his bones crack and pop.

Carefully, Eddie starts unlooping Richie’s chains and the boy stirs, waking fully by the time Eddie is finished.

“Good morning, Lassie.” Eddie laughs, sitting next to Richie again. He pulls his legs up and rests his head on his knees. Richie is quiet for a while, a _long_ while, and it unnerves Eddie. But he leaves it, when Richie wants to talk, he will. Eddie couldn’t begin to imagine what it must’ve felt like, to be yourself, but out of control.

Eventually, Richie does speak; “Was I a good boy Eds?” he coos, mocking Eddie. Eddie almost giggles with relief, but then Richie would think Eddie thought he was funny, and Eddie could not have that. Mockery is good, mockery is Richie, and deep-down Eddie was worried Richie wouldn’t be the same, that he wasn’t _truly_ in there, waiting to come back to Eddie. He grabs Richie’s hand and squeezes before he can remember himself. They’re not scared anymore; he can barely get away with it. He lets himself indulge in Richie’s touch this time. He can self loathe later.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up Fido. You were-” Eddie stops abruptly, letting go of Richie’s hand.

“How much of it do you remember Richie?” Eddie stares at him.

“I remember all of it.” Richie’s eye contact is unrelenting. He takes hold of Eddie’s hand again, threading their fingers together.

“You heard me say that I – “

“I remember all of it, Eds.”

_“You’ll learn to love this one too”_

They don’t talk much after that. But they go home together, hands still held.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comment or kudos, I appreciate it all! hit me up at floralshowercaps.tumblr.com to watch me cry over reddie and preview other fics!


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